Flyer's Luck
by LTAOZFAN
Summary: Soon after "Plunder and Lightning" Baloo takes Kit along on a delivery flight to the country just north of Usland. Kit meets some people Baloo knows and learns something about the way his big friend flys.


**FLYER'S LUCK**

Kit Cloudkicker checked the compass, studied the _Aviator's Almanac_ again, and then looked across the cockpit of the Sea Duck. "You were right about not trusting the compass, Baloo. The magnetic variation is something fierce! And some parts of the map are just blank. How do you navigate in the north country, anyway?"

"Most o' the local pilots follow the rivers or the coastline. Me, I just use Flyer's Luck; it never lets me down."

Kit checked his calculations again, and scanned the map for a moment. "The entrance to Foggy Bay should be ahead, on your right, in five minutes, Baloo."

Kit looked out at the rugged coastline they were following. Steep, rocky islands marched along about a mile off the left wingtip. To the right was an equally rugged coastline, with a chain of mountains on the mainland behind it. There were some small beaches on both sides, and openings between the islands, but nothing that looked like a place to build a town.

"You should find Foggy Bay kinda interestin'," Baloo chuckled. "I first came up here when me an' Wildcat were just startin' out in the cargo business. Oh, it ain't no Cape Suzette, but we had a real wild time, hoppin' cargo for miners an' trappers."

"Baloo? How can there be a town around here?" Kit interrupted his friend. "The biggest beach I've seen so far could barely hold the Sea Duck."

"Oh, there's lots o' inlets an' bays along here, Kit. Some of 'em go inland quite a ways, too. Foggy Bay has flat land around it; you'll see."

Kit turned to the detail chart of Foggy Bay. The harbor was shaped something like a tadpole, or maybe a basketball on a broomstick. It looked to Kit like a long, straight canal going directly into the land, with a large oval of water at the end. He gazed out at the coastline, and saw an opening that was the right size and shape, just where it ought to be.

"Is that it, Baloo?"

"Naw, that's False Bay. Pinches down to nothin' after 'bout a mile." The Sea Duck droned past the mouth of the inlet, which looked like the perfect entrance to a harbor. Kit frowned slightly, turned back to the map, and wondered if Baloo had made a mistake.

About five minutes later, while Baloo was telling Kit a few things about flying in the north, he suddenly changed the subject. "Now, there's the entrance to Foggy Bay!" He pointed at a narrow passage that ran off to the right.

"Uhh . . . are you sure, Baloo?"

"Oh, these islands an' channels can fool ya, sometimes. But the one we want is . . . right here!" Baloo swung the Sea Duck in a graceful, well-banked turn and headed into a gap in the rocky coast that looked like a vertical slash in the cliff. A short distance inside, Kit could see a forbidding wall of gray mist that came down almost to the water. Above, the mist stretched upwards toward the rocky peaks on either side of the inlet. Kit's eyes widened as the Sea Duck droned into the fog, with the cliff wall just visible off the left wingtip. Looking down, Kit could barely see the surface of the sea sliding by.

Baloo held the Sea Duck steady, and began to tell Kit more about the town of Foggy Bay. Kit barely listened, for he was staring out the cockpit windows, trying to remain calm, and wondering what they were going to hit. Would it be a ship, the rocky sides of the bay, or another plane, flying out?

Suddenly the fog was gone. The Sea Duck popped out into clear air, and a few seconds later the harbor and town of Foggy Bay lay ahead of them. Kit gave an audible sigh of relief, and settled back into his seat. What Baloo had been saying now began to register on his mind.

" . . . so, ya just keep the side o' the bay off yer left wing as ya go in, an' the guys flyin' out do the same thing. Planes comin' in or goin' out stick to differ'nt sides, see?"

"Uh, yeah, Baloo. But what about steamships? You flew kinda low," Kit asked.

"Oh, they stay in the middle of the . . . what do you call it? A fee-yord?"

"What if somebody gets in the wrong place, though?"

"Well, Li'l Britches, that's when ya use Flyer's Luck," Baloo chuckled. "It never lets me down."

Kit nodded, and gazed at the scene spread out below the wheeling Sea Duck as Baloo squared away to land. The head of the bay was a mile-wide circle of water, with a small town behind one stretch of sand-and-gravel beach. The plane's hull kissed the surface of the bay with the usual thrumming rush of sound, and after a moment settled down, becoming water-borne again. Using the engines to control his heading, Baloo steered toward the beach before the town.

There was a long pier running from the town out into deep water, with a large, square pier-head. Two twin-engined seaplanes and a small steamship were tied up at this dock, but the Sea Duck taxied past it. Baloo explained that this was the town pier.

"Use that one, an' they make ya pay a fee." There were three other, shorter, piers, and Baloo headed toward the middle one.

A sign on the pier-head said: **'SOURDOUGH'S SUPPLIES.' **At the bottom of the sign, in smaller letters, was: '_T. Salopian, prop_.'

Baloo brought the Sea Duck alongside the pier-head, cut the engines, and let the plane drift gently against the pilings. Kit was out the side door with a rope as they touched. He threw a loop of the line over a piling and snubbed it tight, keeping the plane from drifting away. Baloo followed a moment later, and finished securing the Sea Duck to the pier.

"Come on, Kit, I'll get the paperwork fixed up, an' see about unloadin'. Then maybe we can get some lunch." Baloo pointed to a building that resembled a warehouse, just where the pier they were on met the beach. It had a sign just like the one on the pier-head.

"I'd like to stay out here for a bit, Baloo." Kit could hardly keep his eyes off the variety of new sights around him — especially the many seaplanes. There were at least a dozen, either pulled up on the beach or moored to buoys, as well as a few at the various piers.

"Okay, Li'l Britches," Baloo chuckled. "Just come inside if ya get cold. It's kinda chilly in these parts."

"Sure thing, Papa Bear."

There were a few empty crates on the pier, and while Baloo walked up the dock to the warehouse office, Kit promptly climbed up on one to get a good view. The air was crystal-clear, and every building in the town, every boat or seaplane in the harbor, was easy to see.

Kit gazed around the harbor, drinking in the sight of the seaplanes that were beached, docked or moored. At least half of them were types he had never seen before, and there were a few whose identity he could only guess at. It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

Suddenly, something gripped Kit's legs like a vice. He twisted about and turned his head, trying to see what it was, but could only catch a glimpse of two polar bears in red-checked shirts, overalls and heavy boots. Even from his awkward position, Kit could see that they were both as big as Baloo, and all of it was muscle. They looked as if they could play Mousetralian Rules Football — as the whole team — and win. Each was holding one of Kit's ankles, and both were gazing at him with puzzled expressions on their faces.

"Sven? Vilken är detta?" said one of the bears, looking at his companion and nodding at Kit at the same time.

"I tank it's a cheechako, Olav — a little vun," the other slowly answered.

"Hey! Stop that! Let me go!" Kit tugged and jerked his legs, but the bears' hands didn't move.

"First vun dis year, nej?"

"Oh, ya. 'An you know vut _dat _means, Olav." The two began to shake with laughter, but their hands stayed rock-solid. Kit tugged and pulled, trying to break free, but his efforts were simply ignored.

"Hokay, Sven; are ready?"

"Are so. Ett! Tva! Tre!" On the word 'tre,' Kit was picked up from the crate where he had been standing and lifted seven feet in the air, his legs still gripped as if a vice was clamped on each ankle. He wobbled, tipped and almost fell backwards, but somehow managed to keep his balance.

"He's pretty small, ain't he, Olav? Maybe ve should t'row 'im back." They walked a few paces to the edge of the pier, and glanced down at the water. Kit gulped. His skyfoil was no good this close to the surface, and the harbor looked awfully cold.

The first bear chuckled. "Sven?"

"Ya, Olav?"

"Mak a vish."

"Hmmm? Oh, ya! Mak a vish."

Kit felt a slight, but definite, sideways pressure on his legs, as the polar bears shifted to get him directly between themselves. They lifted Kit a bit higher and began to chant in unison.

"Ett vor de money; tva vor de show; tre to get ready, an' fyra- "

"All right, you two," a young, female voice broke in, "that's enough fun and games!"

"Oops! It's de boss-lady."

"Ya, Sven; she sounds yupset, too."

The female voice came from directly behind him, and Kit couldn't turn around to see who was speaking. But it sounded as if it was the voice of somebody who was in charge of things, and who expected to be obeyed.

"There's cargo to be unloaded," the voice went on, "and it better start moving or I know two people who'll be looking for work this afternoon."

"Yumpin' Yimminy, Olav, she's gettin' mad," the first bear muttered to the other.

"Ya. Ve'd better do like de boss-lady says."

"Come on, put him down in one piece," said the voice. Kit was suddenly tossed another six feet in the air, head-over-heels, and the voice shouted, _**"Gently!"**_

Kit landed in a massive pair of arms. "I got 'im, Sven." A moment later he was put down on a small crate and was gravely handed his cap, which had come off on his short, sudden flight.

"Now, both of you, get weaving!" Was there a touch of amusement in that voice, Kit wondered?

"Ja, Fröken!"

"Ve'll get real busy, by Joe!"

"And drop that 'squarehead &amp; stupid' routine," the voice remarked. "It was old when the Dead Sea was still healthy." Again, Kit thought he could sense laughter in it.

"Oh, well. While it lasted, it was quite enjoyable," said Olav, in a smooth, cultured, and very intelligent voice.

"A skillful, reasonable performance," Sven observed. "By the way, did you read that article by Dr. Wunstone in the latest _World Science Review _yet?"

"Oh, 'A Preliminary Report Upon the Possibility of a Grand Universal Theory of Everything.' Yes, just last night. Rather interesting concept, I thought; at least the mathematics seem to be sound. What did you make of it?"

Still chatting, the two bears strolled over to the Sea Duck to start unloading cargo. Sitting on the crate, Kit felt slightly dizzy. One minute they had seemed even dumber than Dumptruck the air pirate, and the next they sounded as intelligent and educated as Shere Khan. Then his thoughts were interrupted by a gentle voice that sounded close and to one side.

"Are you all right?"

Kit turned his head toward the voice and found himself almost nose-to-nose with a female ground-squirrel. She had large green eyes, brown face-fur, reddish-brown bangs, and seemed to be in her middle or late teens.

As their eyes met, she smiled warmly at Kit and said, "Hi."

For a moment Kit was oddly at a loss for words, but he finally managed to say, "Uh . . . hello . . . ma'am."

"I hope Sven and Olav didn't scare you too much." She glanced toward the Sea Duck, where the two polar bears were adjusting the mooring lines, and swinging the plane around to bring the rear cargo doors against the pier. "They just hate to miss a chance to pull their act on any cheechako they see."

"Cheechako?" The two polar bears had used that word, but Kit had never heard the term before. "What's that?"

"Somebody that's new to the north country." She waved a clipboard at the bay, the town and the hills around the horizon. "You might be rich, smart and important somewhere else, but if you haven't spent a full year up here, you're still a cheechako." She smiled impishly at Kit. "The old-timers say that if a newcomer can survive for a year, he'll live forever. But nobody wants to loan him money that first year."

Kit couldn't think of anything to say; his brain seemed to be stalled. Pulling his eyes away from the girl's face, he glanced up at the sign on the pier and then turned back to her.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but, are you 'Sourdough?'"

"What?" The girl seemed honestly puzzled.

"They called you 'boss,' and the sign . . . " Kit stopped in mid-sentence as she began to laugh.

"No, my Dad owns this place: Thomas Salopian. But everybody calls him 'Sourdough,' from tidewater to the tundra. My name's 'Sitka,' young fella; what's yours?"

"Kit Cloudkicker, ma'am; I'm Baloo's navigator."

"Just call me 'Sitka.' Baloo's been bringing cargo to Dad's place ever since he got his first cargo plane. You work for him, so that makes you one of The Group. When did you hook up with him? Right after his last trip here, last year?"

"Uh, no . . . just two weeks ago." For some odd reason, Kit found it hard to pick the right things to say.

"If you stay with Baloo for a few months, Kit, you should have some interesting times. When the birds are grounded and the fish stay at anchor, Baloo still flies!"

While Kit and Sitka had been talking, Sven and Olav had opened the rear door of the Sea Duck and started taking out crates. As the fourth box thumped down on a low, wheeled, freight dolly, Sitka excused herself, turned and walked over to them. "Olav, is that the ammunition?" She flipped over a page on her clipboard, glanced at it, and then looked at the boxes.

"Yes, Miss Sitka. Two cases of 12-gauge shotgun shells, buckshot loaded; two cases of Emerson 30 ECF cartridges . . . "

Sven put a fifth box on the pile, and added, "And one case of thirty-ought-six military ball cartridges."

Sitka scanned the crates, checked the invoice, and nodded. "Right — get it stowed away. Thanks to yesterday, we may have a run on ammunition." Sven began pushing the loaded dolly down the pier, while Olav pulled a second dolly up to the Sea Duck. Sitka turned around and walked back to where Kit still sat. The heels of her ankle boots made a light thumping noise on the pier, but the two polar bears put their feet down without making a sound.

"Uh, Sitka? Those two sound really smart . . . "

"Sven and Olav _are _smart." Sitka glanced around, and added, in a low voice, "They've got seven college degrees between 'em." Kit's surprise and skepticism must have shown on his face, for she grinned, and went on.

"I know, you're wondering why they're humping cargo on a dock in a back-of-beyond place like Foggy Bay, instead of teaching at a big-city university, or doing research for somebody like Shere Khan, right?"

"Well, I didn't mean it like that," Kit protested.

Sitka explained that Olav and Sven were both from the country of Nordmark, and had come to Foggy Bay to study the land and the people who lived here. Then they would write books on the subject, which would help them each get another degree.

"So, they just work here in their spare time?" Kit asked.

"Oh, no! They came north seven years ago and decided to stay." The girl chuckled. "They like it here."

Sitka made a notation on her clipboard, and looked at him carefully. "If you've never been north before, all this must be new to you. What do you think of it?" She waved at the town and the seaplanes in the harbor.

"It looks great! I've been around airplanes since . . . as far back as I can remember," Kit replied. "Some of these . . . I've never seen before. But," he added, stoutly, "I think I know what they are."

"Well, I know something about airplanes, myself. Suppose you and I have a go at identification?" Sitka scanned the harbor and then pointed to a large, single-engine, high-wing floatplane that was starting to taxi across the water. "What do you think that one is?"

Kit replied quickly, "That's a Sherman Model 71."

"Close — but it's actually a Model 51. Notice the windows in the side of the fuselage? If it was a 71, the last window would be behind the trailing edge of the wing, instead of forward, under the wing, like this one. But you probably don't see many Model 51s around Cape Suzette, do you?"

"No . . . we don't." Inwardly, Kit flinched. He dipped into his memory of airplanes that he had read about, heard about and seen, and came up with something.

"The Sherman Model 51 . . . that's a Sherman SC-3 that's been rebuilt." Kit felt a touch of pride at coming up with this fact.

"That's right. The Sherman company will rebuild and upgrade any SC-3 that's brought in. There haven't been any Model 51s built new at the factory," Sitka commented.

Kit picked out a plane he was sure of and asked Sitka to name it.

"That's a Rekkof R-9 'Super Universal.' Two or three of those are in and out of here every week. What do you call that big, twin-engine biplane over there?" Sitka pointed at a plump-bodied transport, on two big floats, that was alongside the public dock.

Kit correctly identified it as a Kurtright K-32, then asked Sitka to name a Newcastle CH-40 'Skyrocket.' She did, and then asked him to identify a Skykor S-38 flying boat, which he did. Kit picked a Rekkof R-11A, and Sitka knew that one, too. Then she pointed to a single-engine, high-wing monoplane that had corrugated metal skin.

"What do you call that one, Kit?"

"That's an Alexander A-45 . . . or, maybe, an A-47."

"An A-47 is right. It's got J-5300 floats, too. If it had Alexander-built floats the struts would be different." In a thoughtful tone Sitka added, "The first time Baloo came to Foggy Bay, six years ago, he was flying an A-47."

Sitka stepped back to the Sea Duck to check another set of crates. While she did, Kit found time to wonder at this young female. She was taller than Kit . . . almost as tall as Ms. Cunningham. She was just as business-like as Rebecca . . . but she knew just as much about airplanes as Kit did. She was wearing close-fitting blue trousers that looked like they were designed for rugged use, and her jacket had a hood that could be pulled up to cover the head. Kit was a bit surprised to see the handle of a large knife above her right boot top. Then he noticed that both Sven and Olav had big sheath knives hooked to their belts as well.

"They can handle the details out here," said Sitka, walking back to the crate where Kit still sat. "Let's go inside, wake up Baloo, and I'll do the paperwork while you warm up."

Kit was about to protest that he wasn't cold when he suddenly noticed that he _was. _In spite of the strong, clear sunlight, the air was quite chilly.

"Come here next month and you'll start sweating as soon as you land," Sitka remarked, as she strode along the pier. Kit found himself almost trotting to keep alongside her.

"I didn't think it got real hot this far north."

"For about eight weeks it's almost as warm here as it gets in Cape Suzette," Sitka replied. She added that in the middle of summer there was a big celebration called 'Pioneer Days.' Almost everybody in town would wear outfits like the people wore during the big Gold Rush of 1899. There were dances, parties and competitions open to all comers, such as kayak races, rifle- and pistol-shooting events, log-sawing &amp; chopping contests and something she called 'birling.' Before Kit could ask what 'birling' was, they reached the office door at the shore end of the pier.

Once inside, Kit went over to the small stove that was warming the office. Baloo had already found a comfortable chair, and a copy of the local newspaper. Before walking over to the desk, Sitka paused to take off her jacket and hang it up. Under the jacket she wore a short-sleeved pullover that fit as snugly as did her trousers.

Kit had often been puzzled by the way he had seen adult males act about adult females. He just didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Still, he had developed a rough idea of what a male thought an attractive female should look like. Sitka's face and shape seemed to be the right kind, Kit decided. And she certainly knew a lot about airplanes!

While Kit warmed himself by the stove, Sitka sat down at the desk and started checking the cargo's paperwork. At the same time, she began chatting with Baloo. "You two should have been here yesterday, Baloo. You missed all the excitement by coming today."

"Huh?" Baloo looked up from last Saturday's _Foggy Bay Sentinel. _"What happened yesterday?"

Sitka explained that the Foggy Bay Miner's &amp; Fisherman's Bank had been robbed the previous afternoon. There had been some shooting, three people were hurt — none seriously — and the robbers got away with almost $100,000 in cash and gold. The sheriff had called out all deputies and volunteers, and search parties were combing the area on both land and water. Several pilots had gone up to search more distant areas, and to spread word of the robbery.

"That's why Dad isn't here today," Sitka added. "He and Mom are out with one of the search parties."

"I know Sourdough an' Juneau are tough, but takin' on a batch o' bank robbers . . . " Baloo frowned. "Why didn't your folks send Sven an' Olav instead?"

Sitka looked up from the desk with a suddenly grim expression. "It's personal, Baloo. We keep _our _savings at that bank!" After a moment she added, "Besides, some yahoo just might try robbing some other business while everybody's out looking for this gang. Sven, Olav and me are keeping an eye on things here." She pointed at the door into the main part of the warehouse.

"Guns, ammunition, hardware, food and warm clothing. Up-country in the winter that stuff is worth more than gold."

Baloo chuckled. "Yeah, ya can't _eat _gold dust, can ya?"

Kit had been looking around the office and noticed a large framed picture on the wall. It showed a male fox, dressed in a checked shirt and overalls, sitting in a chair. He was resting one hand on the handle of a miner's pick, while his other hand held a plug hat. To one side and slightly behind him stood a female ground-squirrel who looked like a grown-up version of Sitka.

The fox had a 'handlebar' mustache, his hair was neatly combed, and his clothes seemed to be fairly new. He looked strong and tough, and wore a pleased and cheerful expression. The ground-squirrel lady was very pretty. She wore long gloves, while her dress had a low neckline that left her upper arms and shoulders bare. There was a wide ribbon around her neck, like a collar, and she held the hem of her skirt in one hand which rested on her left hip. Just visible in the folds of the skirt was a lacy . . . something . . . that went around her upper leg. Just like the fox, she was smiling.

"Uh . . . Sitka? Who are they?" Kit pointed at the picture and looked across the desk at the girl. She answered with barely a glance up from the paperwork.

"Those are Dad's folks. Grandpa came to Foggy Bay just before the Gold Rush of '99 and staked a claim in the back country. After six months he struck it rich! Soon as he could get back to town, next spring, he came in to celebrate. He saw Grandma dancing in 'The Silver Slipper,' proposed, and they were married the next day. That's their wedding picture."

Sitka looked up and gazed thoughtfully at the picture. "Folks tell me I look like her. What do you think, Kit?" She smiled at him, and Kit vaguely wondered if he was blushing.

Kit turned back to the picture and tried to concentrate on it. It looked as if it was taken inside a room . . . the lady did look like a grown-up Sitka . . . but . . . hmmm.

He looked closely at the picture, glanced at Baloo, who was grinning, and nodded. "She does look like you, Sitka, but I don't think this picture is thirty-seven years old. The frame is old but the glass is new."

"Kit, I've told that story to sixteen people who've been new to Foggy Bay, and every one of them swallowed it whole," Sitka said. "You're number seventeen . . . and the first one to question it." She glanced at the picture again, and added, "What's more, you're right! That's Mom and Dad, in costume for the 'Pioneer Days' last year."

"Now, Sitka, some of what ya said is true," Baloo protested. "Yer Granddad _was _a prospector, an' he _did _find gold."

Sitka smiled in agreement. "That's true enough." She went on, addressing Kit directly, "Oh, Grandpa didn't find as much gold as that fellow McDuck, but his claim _was _a good one. He _did _meet Grandma in 'The Silver Slipper,' but she wasn't a dancer; she _owned _the place!" The girl went on in a thoughtful way, "What's more, he courted her for a year before they got married. Lots of competition, there."

Kit wanted to believe this, and somehow, he felt that it was the truth. He glanced at Baloo, who nodded soberly, so he decided to accept Sitka's story . . . for now, anyway.

BWKRMBWKRM

An hour later, after a quick lunch, Baloo started the engines and taxied the Sea Duck into position for take-off. As they thundered across the bay and lifted into the air, Kit could see Sitka standing at the end of the pier, watching. When Baloo swung the plane around toward the entrance, it passed low over the pier-head, and Sitka waved to them. Kit waved back.

Baloo eased over to the left side of the fjord, just as they met the bank of rolling mist. While the Sea Duck droned through the fog, he began to muse out loud about the bank robbery.

"Sure to be a big re-ward for catchin' those bank robbers . . . I could use it to pay off a chunk o' what I owe Becky for the Sea Duck."

Kit didn't pay much attention to the fog swirling past the cockpit windows. Baloo knew the way out of Foggy Bay just as well as he knew the way in, and there was nothing to see, anyway. Besides, for once, Kit's thoughts were on a subject other than flying and airplanes.

Sitka had parents . . . grandparents . . . a home . . . she was smart . . . she knew all about airplanes, too! Kit sighed. He was just a kid who used to be an air pirate . . . HEY! _**"Baloo!"**_

"Yikes!" Baloo slammed the throttles wide open and hauled back on the control yoke at the same time. The Sea Duck's nose swung skyward and the engines thundered up to their maximum as a shadowy shape in the fog ahead changed into something big and solid . . . a steamship!

There was a scraping, crunching thud below the cockpit, and the sound of splintering wood and tearing metal. The steamer vanished behind and below in the fog, and for a few nervous seconds Kit and Baloo wondered if they were flying or falling. Then the fog thinned out and the Sea Duck burst into clear air at the entrance to the bay.

"What's that ship doin' there?" Baloo asked in a bewildered tone. He tested the controls and scanned the instruments. "The controls are okay . . . engines sound good . . . we're not losin' fuel . . . I guess we didn't get hurt _too _bad."

Kit wasn't so sure. There were some odd noises coming from the cargo hold. He unbuckled his seatbelt and started for the door in the bulkhead.

"I'll take a look, Baloo."

The pilot shook his head in dismay. "Those ships are supposed to stay in the _middle_ of the fee-yord," he muttered. "That ship captain was kinda careless!" He turned his head toward the door as he heard it open. "Nothin' serious, huh, Kit?"

"I think we should have had more altitude, Papa Bear," Kit answered in a slightly shaky voice. He held up a piece of wood that looked like trim from a building . . . or a ship's pilothouse. A small, bedraggled and very dazed puffin was clinging to it.

Baloo leaned over to stare at the bird, which wasn't really a good idea. Getting its bearings just as Baloo's face drew near, the puffin angrily clamped its beak on the nearest thing it could reach: Baloo's nose!

"YEOWCH!" Baloo swatted at the bird, which promptly let go and flew back to the cargo hold. Kit went after the bird while the Sea Duck yawed and banked. Baloo quickly got back on the controls and steadied the plane. A minute or so later, Kit returned to the cockpit and took his seat.

As he fastened his seatbelt, Kit explained that there was a lot of damage. There were at least two holes in the cargo hold's deck, with matching holes in the plane's bottom. The puffin had apparently flown out through one of them. "We'd better get ashore quick once we land in Cape Suzette Bay, Baloo," Kit finished. "Uh . . . _real _quick!"

Baloo slumped back in his seat and groaned. "Oh, _man! _Becky is gonna pop her cork about this . . . "

BWKRMBWKRM

She did.

"I see it, but I still don't believe it! Just _look _at what you've done to _my plane!" _Rebecca glared at the bottom of the Sea Duck, which looked much the worse for wear. Although the plane had been pulled up on the beach on its wheels for almost an hour, water was still dripping from holes, open seams and loose rivets. Wildcat was crawling around underneath the plane, checking for damage, and making soothing sounds, as if the Sea Duck was a sick puppy.

"Hey, it's been _my_ plane a lot longer than it's been _yours!" _Baloo retorted.

"I paid to have it put back together, buster, so it's _mine _until you pay off the bill," Rebecca replied. _"Plus _the cost of fixing this, Baloo; _plus _the cost!"

"But it ain't _my _fault, Becky! They shouldn't let those ships operate in that kinda weather."

"I shouldn't let _you _fly in _any _kind of weather. All that reward money we got for chasing Don Karnage away from Cape Suzette goes to rebuild 'your baby,' and hardly two weeks later you bash the bottom out on a ferryboat!"

A shout from the dock derailed Rebecca's train of thought. She turned toward the Higher for Hire office, where Kit was standing in the doorway. "Yes, what is it, Kit?"

"There's a telephone call for Baloo, Ms. Cunningham. They say it's important, too." Kit answered. Rebecca clenched her teeth for a moment; she _hated _to be interrupted in mid-lecture. Then she glared at the pilot and nodded. Baloo hurried into the office with a sigh of relief at escaping Rebecca's wrath even for only a few minutes.

Kit walked out to the beached plane where Rebecca had crouched down to look under the Sea Duck. He listened while she asked Wildcat about the repairs that the plane would need. When Rebecca stood up again, Kit stepped forward and spoke to her.

"Ms. Cunningham? It's really my fault we hit that ship. I wasn't keeping a good lookout, and . . . "

The anger faded somewhat from Rebecca's face. "Kit, you shouldn't try to take the blame for Baloo like that."

"But I'm the navigator! I should have . . . "

"Baloo is the pilot, Kit! And the pilot is the person responsible for flying the plane." She shook her head and added, in a worried tone, "If the owners of that ship sue Higher for Hire for damages, I could lose everything!"

"But it was an accident!" Kit protested.

"And I own the company whose plane had the accident, Kit. That means I may have to pay for the damage to that ship." Her face was suddenly very bleak. "I just hope that nobody was hurt. If someone was killed . . . "

"Oh, _Re-beck-a!" _Baloo called from a window. "This guy on the phone wants to talk to ya!" Frowning, Rebecca marched up the beach and into the office, with Kit trotting behind her. Baloo met them just inside the doorway.

"Fella on the phone wants to talk to the owner of the plane that hit the ship," Baloo explained, smiling gently.

Rebecca gulped, and then stiffened her spine. "It's not funny, Baloo! Here comes the bill for damages to that ship," she growled. "And it's _all _coming out of _your _salary, buster!" Rebecca walked across the room, picked up the telephone handset, and then spoke in a sweet, very pleasant manner.

"This is Rebecca Cunningham speaking; how can I help you?"

Baloo bent over and spoke to Kit in a low voice, while Rebecca listened to the telephone.

"Li'l Britches, that's the local man for the Foggy Bay bank on the line. Seems he got a telegram from his boss 'bout that ship we hit."

"Yes, I run the company that owns that plane . . . " Rebecca said into the telephone.

"Remember those bank robbers Sitka told us about? They hijacked that ship, an' were usin' it for their get-away." Baloo's body shook with suppressed laughter. _"An', _they were all up in the pilot-house when we clipped it!"

"They were? It did?" Rebecca sounded thunderstruck at what the telephone was telling her.

"They was all knocked out, the ship's crew tied 'em up, an' the bank is gonna send us a ree-ward for helpin' to capture the crooks!" Baloo's grin was matched by Kit's relieved smile.

"Oh, you're welcome, glad we could help," Rebecca stammered. "Well, yes, the bottom of the plane was damaged . . . what? A reward?" Her voice seemed to fail Rebecca for a moment, for she just nodded and said, "Uh-huh . . . okay . . tha- thank you . . . thank you very much . . . yes, just make it payable to Higher for Hire."

Baloo nudged Kit, nodded toward the door, and they both hurried down to the Sea Duck. Once they were well away from the office, they both began chuckling with relief at how everything had turned out. After a couple of minutes, Kit coughed, cleared his throat, and spoke to Baloo in a somewhat casual way.

"Uh, Baloo? How often do you go to Foggy Bay?"

"Oh, Sourdough telegraphs an order for stuff every four or five weeks, durin' the summer. You want to go back and try yer hand lookin' for gold?"

"Oh, no, Papa Bear! It's just that . . . well . . . there were a lot of planes in the harbor I've only read about," Kit replied, hastily. "I'd like to see more of them, sometime . . . "

"Well, it's likely we'll make another three trips at least, this summer. Maybe we can get there during Pioneer Days, an' you'll see what the Gold Rush was like."

Just then, the door of the Higher for Hire office swung open, and Rebecca came out. She walked over to the Sea Duck, with a somewhat dazed expression on her face.

"The Foggy Bay bank owns that ship you hit, Baloo . . . " Rebecca began, in a bewildered voice.

"Uh-huh," he replied, doing his best to hide a smile.

Rebecca went on to explain what had happened, while Baloo and Kit listened as if it was all news to them. " . . . and they're so glad that the bank robbers were caught and the money recovered, they aren't claiming any damages," she continued.

"My, my." Baloo managed to look seriously interested. "Do tell!"

_ "And _they're sending me five thousand dollars to pay for the damage _their _ship did to _my _plane!" Rebecca finished, speaking as if she had just seen water start running uphill.

"Now, that's real nice of 'em. Uh, Beckers, before the phone call, you were sayin' . . . ?" Baloo prompted. Rebecca looked up with puzzlement on her face. "About the cost o' the Duck's repairs comin' out of my salary . . . ?"

Rebecca blushed. "The money the bank is sending should cover it, Baloo." She pulled her mind back to the questions of business and finance. "And whatever is left over will go toward paying off some of your debt on the Sea Duck."

Baloo winked broadly at Kit.

"I don't know how you do it, Baloo," Rebecca sighed. "I've seen you get into trouble several times the past few weeks, and each time you just . . . wiggle out of it, somehow. What's your secret, any way?"

Baloo just smiled and gave a shrug. "No secret. Beckers, that's just . . . Flyer's Luck!"

"Well, I wish I could have luck like that," said Rebecca in exasperation. "Just _once! _That's all." At that moment the side door of the Sea Duck swung open, and Molly, holding some seabird feathers, looked down at her mother.

"Mommy! Look what I found in the plane!" Smiling, Rebecca lifted her daughter down to the ground. She praised Molly's discovery, after which the little cub raced off to the office to show the feathers to her doll. Looking after her daughter, Rebecca reflected that on at least one occasion, she had been _more _than lucky.

**THE END**


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